My mother-in-law shifted the delicacies from my fridge into her own handbag before leaving
– Are you sure we need this much cold meat? This is smoked ham, Alice, it costs an arm and a leg, – I said, turning the vacuum-packed slab over in my hands as I stared at the price tag with the kind of horror reserved for bad news.
Alice, undeterred, continued emptying carrier bags onto the kitchen table: glossy red peppers, a plump jar of caviar with a golden lid, a hefty block of parmesan, bottles of wine. The kitchen was soon brimming with scents of fresh bread and smoked meats.
– Its your birthday, – she replied calmly, sliding the milk into the fridge. – Thirty-five, love. Your mates are coming, even your mothers making her way. Do you want to serve up just boiled potatoes and corned beef? I got a cracking bonus, let me set a proper spread, just once a year, alright? Just so Im not embarrassed.
– I wouldnt be embarrassed with potatoes, – I muttered, but didnt put the smoked ham back, placing it carefully on the fridge shelf, right at the back. – You know Mumll start moaning about wasting money again. Classic her: Shouldve saved it, paid the mortgage early, whats all this spending?
– Your mum will complain whatever we do, – Alice sighed, fishing out the salad bowl. – Buy posh stuff, we’re spendthrifts. Buy cheap, were paupers poisoning her son. I gave up keeping Tamara Jane happy ages ago. I only care about you and the guests liking it. Actually, I hunted down that prosciutto all over townit’s the very one you tried in Spain five years ago, remember?
I smiled, remembering. My face relaxed.
– I remember. It was lush, that stuff. All right, you win. If were throwing a party, lets do it properly. Just tear the price tags offall Mum needs is another excuse to keel over.
Preparations were in full swing. Alice loved cooking, but only when she could do it in peace. Today, typically, Tamara Jane had promised to come early to help the girl. Which meant occupying the best seat in the kitchen, getting in the way, and dispensing unsolicited advice while criticising everything: from how you chop onions to the colour of the curtains.
The doorbell rang at precisely two oclock. I hurried to let her in, while Alice took a deep breath and forced a smile.
– And heres the birthday boy! – my mothers booming voice reverberated down the hallway. – Come here, son! Youre wasting awayskin and bones. Of course, you cant get plump eating store-bought pies.
– Mum, what pies? Alice cooks brilliantly, – I tried to protest, helping her out of her heavy wool coat.
– Dont argue with your mother. I can see, your eyes are sunken. Hello, Alice.
Tamara Jane swept into the kitchen like an icebreaker through the Thames. She clung to her capacious shopping bag, as ever.
– Afternoon, Tamara Jane. Lovely to see you. Do come in, the kettles just boiled.
– Tea later, – she said, waving me off and placing her bag on a stool. – I brought treats, knowing you youngsters. Your fridge is always bare as a badger.
She began unpacking her gifts: a huge jar of pickled cucumbers floating in dubious brine, a bruised bag of home-grown apples, and a bundle of sweets from the Eighties.
– Proper old-school cucumbers, – she announced proudly. – The apples are pure vitamins. Cut the bad bits, they’ll do for compote. No waste.
– Thank you, – Alice said, trying not to look at the cloudy brine. – Well try them, definitely.
Tamara Jane, meanwhile, had already commandeered the fridge, an inspection she called checking for spacethough everyone knew what it was really about.
– Oh my, – she muttered, spotting the spread. – Caviar? Red? Two jars? Whats this, Vicky, found buried treasure? Or did Alice rob a bank?
– Got a bonus, Mum, – I grumbled, sneaking a bit of cheese off the chopping board.
– Bonus, right… Instead of helping your mother, whose garden fence needs replacing, you stuff yourselves with caviar. Well, its your business. Im just a pensioner, I dont need much.
She banged the fridge shut and made herself comfortable, blocking the sink.
– Come on, Alice, what have you whipped up? Ill just sit here, rest my feet. Blood pressures up, but I still made it. Gotta congratulate my son. Heroic, really.
The next three hours followed their familiar pattern. Alice dashed between oven and table, chopping, mixing, roasting; Tamara Jane critiqued every step.
– Too much mayo, thats unhealthy.
– Why buy expensive bread? Tescos own is just as good for less.
– Shouldve tenderised the meat more, itll be tough.
Alice remained silent, tuning it all out with practiced white noise. Survival till evening was key.
By six, guests started arriving. My mates, noisy and cheerful, filled the flat with laughter and the spicy cloud of aftershave. The table was loaded: roast pork, aubergine rolls with walnuts, caviar tartlets, a selection of cold meats and cheeses, salads, hot dishes.
When everyone settled for the first toast, Tamara Jane took charge.
– Vicky, son, – she began, dabbing her eyes with a napkin. – I remember when you were born. Such agony, two days labour…
The guests politely endured the story for the fifteenth time. Alice used the break to serve herself salad.
– …and now youre grown, married. Well, as it turned out, – she shot a glance at Alice. – Main thing is, youre happy. Food isnt everything. Alices tried her best, bought loads of fancy goods. Id have done a humbler table, but more heart. Its all show nowadays, isnt it?
She speared a hefty chunk of smoked eelAlice had sourced it from a specialist shop for a small fortuneand popped it into her mouth.
– Hmm, – she declared loudly, chewing, – fish is fish. Salty. Bit fatty. Back in my day, you couldnt beat kippers.
Despite the criticism, Tamara Jane ate with gusto, her plate constantly attracting the choicest morsels. The ham vanished at breakneck speed. She munched caviar tartlets like peanuts, commenting:
– The caviars tiny. Bet its artificial? Cant get real stuff now. Alice, show me the jar later, Ill check the ingredients. Dont want to poison ourselves.
Alice just smiled and kept refilling everyones wine glasses. I caught myself blushing, wishing I could say something. But Id never confronted Mum in front of people. Nor, frankly, even alone.
The evening rolled on: friends praised the food, especially the fish and meat, joked, reminisced about old uni days. Tamara Jane chimed in with complaints about pensioner struggles and ungrateful children, but the general hubbub drowned her out.
Around ten, the guests started heading off. Tomorrow was a workday, after all.
– Alice, youre magic! – said my best mate Dave, shaking her hand at the door. – That eeltop notch! Thank you!
– Glad you enjoyed it, – she beamed.
When the door closed behind the last guest, silence fell, broken only by plates clattering as Tamara Jane began clearing the table.
– Right, Ill help with the tidying, or youll be at it all night, – she announced. – Vicky, take out the rubbish, those bins are full. You, Alice, package up the hot dishes for leftovers.
Alice looked exhausted, her shoulders sagging.
– Tamara Jane, leave it, Ill sort everything. Please rest, shall I call you a cab?
– What? Throw money away? Ill catch the busstill running. And dont argue, Ill help. You look ready to collapse. Get yourself in the bathroom, splash some water, take a pill. Ill be quick.
Alice truly did look unwell, headache clearly getting the best of her.
– Fine, – she gave in. – Five minutes. Vicky will be back soon to see you out.
She retreated to the bedroom, dug out some painkillers, then splashed cool water on her face. A bit of the ringing in her ears started to fade. Best get back, she thought. Mum-in-law left alone in the kitchen, shell probably start washing dishes with my facial cleanser or rearrange all the pans.
Alice crept out of the bathroom softly, padding in slippers, and stopped at the kitchen door.
Tamara Jane was facing the fridge, her giant handbag open on the stool. Working quickly and artfully, she swept remains of the fancy meat plattercostly ham, roast pork, and cured sausageinto a plastic bag, then tucked it in her handbag.
Alice blinked. Was she imagining this? No.
Tamara Jane reached into the fridge, grabbed a container where Alice had set aside smoked trout for breakfast. Three hundred grams, easy. Bagged and stashed.
Then, half the remaining homemade Victoria sponge, which Alice had baked the previous night alone till two am. Too big for the box, so she just wrapped the slices in foil, squashing the delicate layers.
– What else is there – muttered Tamara Jane. – Oh, cheese. Parmesan. Well, better to take it than let it dry out and get chucked.
The parmesan wedge, worth more than my first car, went in after. Then olives. And, finally, a nearly full bottle of expensive brandya work gift, never openeddisappeared into the handbag too.
Alice stood in the doorway, arms limp, unsure what to do. Scream? Start a row? Accuse her of theft? The words stuckcalling your husbands mother a thief seemed impossible, even if thats precisely what she was doing.
Just then, the front door banged open. I was back.
– Cor, its nippy out there, – I called. – Mum, are you ready? Ill keep my coat on to see you out.
Tamara Jane startled, snapped her bag shut, and spun around. On seeing Alice standing in the doorframe, she flushed and fidgeted, but quickly composed herself.
– Oh, Alice, youre up already? Im just tidying up, helping. Vickys back? Good. Im about ready to go.
She snatched up her handbag, grunting with the effortmuch heavier than before.
– Mum, let me help, whatve you got in there, bricks? – I poked my head into the kitchen.
– Leave it! – she yelped, clutching her bag to her chest. – Ill carry it. Just my empty jars, I moved the pickles into your dish and took my jars back. And personal things. Dont touch!
Alice looked at me. I stared at Mum, puzzled.
– What jars? You only brought one, and thats still full on the windowsill.
– Other jars! – Tamara Jane was turning red. – Stop nit-picking! I want to get home! Been slaving for you all day!
Alice stepped forward, calm now as cold steel.
– Tamara Jane, – she said quietly, evenly. – Put the bag on the table.
– What? – Mum gaped. – Whats that supposed to mean? You searching me now? Vicky, you hear your wife? Shes calling me a thief!
– Alice, what? – I faltered, glancing in confusion between the two women. – Mum just
– Vicky, – Alice cut across, eyes unwavering. – That bags got our breakfast in it. And lunch. And dinner. Theres trout I paid forty quid for. Your favourite ham. The brandy Dave gave you. And the cake.
– Youre talking rubbish! – Mum shrieked, backing towards the hall. – How dare you! Im a retired teacher, a pensioner I havent touched a crumb! You can choke on your food for all I care!
She tried to dart past towards the hall, but the bag snagged on the table edge. The handles snapped under the empty jars weight, dumping the contents on the laminate.
The sight was something to behold.
Smoked sausage rolled across the floor, the fish bag burst so a hunk of eel slapped down on my shoe, the foil on the cake came loose, revealing a squished Victoria sponge, the brandy clanged against a chair leg, mercifully didnt break, and everything was topped with parmesan and old sweets.
The kitchen fell silent. Only the fridge humming and Tamara Janes heavy breaths filled the air.
I stared at the scattered delicacies. At the chunk of fish on my foot. Back at my mother, red as a beetroot. My face twistedbewilderment, then realisation, then shame. Proper, sticky shame.
– Mum? – I managed. – What is all this?
Tamara Jane straightenedattack is the best defence.
– So what? – she fired back, staring me down. – Yes, I took it! Youve got too much! Youll just throw it away! Youre spoilt! Fridges bursting, Im scrimping on fifteen hundred a month! Only seen ham like this on telly! Dont I deserve a treat, once? I raised you, lost sleep over you! And now you begrudge your mum a bit of sausage?
Alice said nothing, waiting for my reaction. This was itthe reckoning. Usually, Id mumble: Oh, never mind, Mum, take what you like, its fine, just to smooth things over.
But I bent down, picked up the chunk of eel, put it on the table. Then set the brandy down carefully.
– Mum, – I said, voice low. – Its not about the food. You know, if youd asked, wed have packed a bag for youlike we always do. Always.
– What, Im meant to beg? Ask? – Mum shrieked, panic rising. – A mother shouldnt have to grovel! You should offer! Selfish!
– You didnt ask, – I shook my head. – You waited til Alice left and stuffed it all in your bag. Like…like a thief.
– What did you call me?! – Tamara Jane clutched her chest. – Oh, Im ill! My heart! My pills! You two will be the death of me!
– Skip the dramatics, Tamara Jane, – Alice said coldly. – Your pills are in your left pocketI saw when you took off your coat.
Mum froze, her performance blown.
– Vicky, – Alice looked at me. – Please pick everything up and put it in a bag.
– Why? – I blinked.
– So you can give it to your mum. Let her take it. Im not eating food thats been on the floor.
– Alice? – I was taken aback.
– Let her have it, – she insisted. – The fishs ruined, I wont eat it. The cake is mush. Sausages too. All hers. Call it her present for your birthday. And I dont want to see her here for at least a month.
Tamara Jane stood, shocked and gasp-mouthed like a beached trout.
I scooped everything onto a bagfish, cheese, smashed cake. Left the brandy on the table.
– Brandys mine, – I muttered. – I need a drink. Badly.
I held the bag out to Mum.
– Take it, Mum. And go. Ive called you a cab, itll be outside in two minutes.
– Youyoure chucking me out? Your own mother? Over food?
– Over the lying, Mum. Over disrespecting my home and my wife.
She snatched the bag from me, her eyes brimming with angry tears.
– You wont see me here again! – she hissed. – Live as you wish, you greedy lot! May that sausage stick in your throats!
She whirled out to the hallway. The front door slammed so hard, plaster fell off the wall.
Alice collapsed onto a chair, covering her face. She was trembling.
I grabbed two glasses, poured generous shots of the brandy. Set one in front of her, kept one.
– Drink, – I said. – You need it.
Alice looked up. I felt ten years older. Sat opposite and took her hand.
– Sorry, Ally.
– For what? You didnt know.
– For not seeing it sooner. For letting her carry on. I always told myself, shes just a bit odd, but shes decent. Now Im ashamed. Like I nicked all that food myself.
Alice sipped, the brandy stinging but oddly relieving.
– You know, – she smiled wanly, – funniest bit is, I bought extra salami and cheese just to send her home with. They’re in the fridges bottom drawer. She just didn’t find them.
I couldnt help a hysterical laugh.
– Seriously?
– Seriously. I expected shed moan about money. Wanted to offer it properly.
– Looks like properly isnt an option with her, – I threw back my drink. – You know what? Tomorrow, Im changing the locks. She wrung keys out of me months ago, just in case. Next time I walk in, shell have taken the telly. Because Veronica from up the road has a bigger one.
Alice looked at mesurprised, maybe impressed. For the first time in seven years, I spoke about Mum without cowed excuses or attempts to justify her behaviour. The food fiasco was the straw that broke even my ever-patient back.
– What are we eating tomorrow? – Alice asked, eyeing the empty table. – Shes nabbed almost everything.
I got up, opened the fridge, and peered inside.
– Theres a tin of caviar left. The one she missed. Eggs. Milk. Omelette with caviar, like royalty.
Alice laughed, the oppressive tension starting to fade.
– And weve still got those battered apples, – she reminded me. – Compote?
– God, no, – I grimaced. – Ill bin the apples tomorrow. And the pickles. Enough of the care packages.
We spent the night at the kitchen table, finishing the brandy, talking about things wed bottled up for years. About boundaries. About how love for parents doesn’t mean they can walk all over you. About how, first and foremost, family is you and your partner.
Next morning, Alice woke to the smell of coffeeme pottering in the kitchen.
– Morning, love, – I kissed her. – Thinking any bonus money left?
– A bit. Why?
– Lets go away this weekend. To the seaside. Or London for a couple of days. Far from here. With our phones off.
– What about Mum? Shell be on the blower, moaning to the whole family.
– She can ring all she wants. Thats her choice. Weve made ours. Omelette with caviars readycome and eat.
Alice stared at the plate: fluffy golden omelette topped with bright red caviar. Maybe the best breakfast of our lives. Not because of the price, but because it wasnt tainted by guilt or someone elses demands.
Tamara Jane did ring, two days later. I saw her name, sighed, and put my mobile face-down.
– Not answering? – asked Alice.
– No. Let her eat her sausage and cool off. Maybe well talk in a month. Right now, Im taking my wife to the pictures.
Alice smiled, disappeared to dress. The fridge was almost bare, but my heart felt unexpectedly light and clear. That feeling was worth all the stolen delicaciesand more.
Looking back, I realise sometimes you have to stand up for yourself and your loved ones, even if it means upsetting family. Respect for your own home is pricelessand letting go of old guilt is the best gift you can give yourself.
